


An Unspeakable Crime

by Ricky B (littletoes101)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Sexual Abuse, M/M, Rape, Sexual Assault, Sexual Torture, child molestation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5604574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletoes101/pseuds/Ricky%20B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something horrific happens to Dallas Genoard. It’s up to Luck Gandor, of all people, to figure out what really happened to him and help him begin to heal…but that’s only half the battle. [huge tw for rape, violence, sexual assault, among other things. there will be talk of child molestation and child sexual abuse in future chapters. this fic is very, very dark]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: Defeat

A long time ago, when things like this first happened to him, Dallas Genoard told himself he wouldn’t give up. He would fight the next time, he said. No matter what, he would always do something. He would try, he would fight, and somehow, he would persevere. And he did, for a little bit, at least before the river. Dallas had started taking his life back, in a weird way, when he was running on the streets. At least until he ran into Scott and the others, who he’d only been running with for a few months when everything with the Gandors went down.

Now, tied to a bed in a dirty room in some shit motel, Dallas has finally given up any idea that he was in control of his life. He’s been under the will of other people for so long, it seems only natural that defeat is the only option.

There’s no way he can escape. The door to this room locks on the outside, and he’s got his wrists and ankles tied to the bedpost. The guys who put him here did that so they could rape him easier. He stopped fighting after three days, anyway; no food or water left him too fatigued to try. What could he do, really? Nothing. Not anymore.

Dallas doesn’t even flinch anymore when the door opens. Why bother? What happens will happen, regardless of how he feels about it. Usually they’ll come in laughing, bottles in their hands. They drink a lot before they get on him. It’s not so bad when they’re in a good mood. He only worries and braces himself when they come in yelling, or muttering about something. He sometimes catches “Runoratas” coming from under their breaths. That’s when it hurts the worst, because there’s nothing to prepare him for it. It’s violent, and it hurts, but Dallas is numb.

This time when the door opens, there’s just silence to greet him. Dallas keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to face the reality standing in front of him. He’s totally exposed, his clothes ripped and stained beyond repair. He can’t say it doesn’t bother him, because it does, but again there’s nothing he can do about it.

When he hears the door hit the side of the wall, Dallas finally opens his eyes, not willing to wait anymore. Waiting gives him more agony than the actual rape, if that’s possible to believe. When he does open his eyes, he’s utterly shocked by who he sees standing there.

Luck. Motherfucking Luck Gandor, standing there like he’s surprised. It’s his men who’ve been raping him, after all; he happened to hear them say something about it when he was conscious. He looks more shocked than surprised, actually, and after a few seconds of them staring at each other later, Dallas starts to wonder if Luck really doesn’t know.

He’s at Dallas’s side so fast he thinks he imagined it. Part of him hears him ask _are you okay_ but he doesn’t fully register it. Luck pulls out a pocket knife, and Dallas’s instinct is to flinch away from it. But then, he thinks, if Luck really wants to do something to him, it’ll happen, no matter what Dallas has to say about it. He’s already taken his free will from him once before.

But the pocket knife doesn’t go to Dallas’s skin. Instead, Luck carefully uses it to cut the ropes binding Dallas to the bed. He’s been tied up so long, at first when he’s freed, his skin is raw and red, his wrists and ankles bloodied and broken. He doesn’t even move when the final bond is cut. Rather, he just lies there, not even looking at Luck. He can’t bring himself to do it.

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to. Luck pulls him into his arms – not a difficult feat, considering Dallas’s weight has dropped from its normal 140 to 100 within the course of the months he’s been left here. He feels so helpless, held there in his arms like a child, and Luck at least covers him with a sheet. He’s grateful for that. Finally, Dallas gives a choked sob, the only noise he’s given since all of this has started.

Dallas finally passes out to the sound of Luck’s voice telling him he’s going to be alright, and he doesn’t know if that’s supposed to be comforting or a threat.


	2. Part 2: Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't know yet if this is a sanctuary or another prison.

There are whispers all around Dallas when he regains some consciousness. He can tell that he’s lying in a bed, but he’s not tied to it – so his freedom wasn’t a dream. But thick, heavy blankets pin him to the bed, and his skin runs cold. He doesn’t want it on him, he doesn’t want anything that reminds him of what he’s finally gotten away from.

As he starts to push the blankets away from his body, Dallas realizes he hasn’t been alone. Luck is standing there by his bedside, and the man he recognizes as Maiza Avaro is at the foot of his bed. They look like they’re talking, but the words don’t reach his ears. Instead, he keeps pushing the blankets off until there’s just a thin sheet over him, which he curls his hands in to tightly. Then, he uncurls his hands only to grip his shoulders, holding himself as if it’s the only thing keeping him rooted to the spot. He feels cold.

Maiza leaves, and now he’s alone in the bedroom with Luck. Dallas thinks he should be scared, but he isn’t, even though he doesn’t face Luck. He’s mostly just confused – why would he help him? Dallas has been nothing but a menace to the Gandor family since the first time he stepped foot in their territory. What had possessed Luck to take him out of that hotel room and bring him somewhere safer?

He doesn’t ask Luck any of those questions. Instead, Dallas just asks in a very small voice, “Where am I?”

Luck seems surprised again when Dallas finally speaks, but he answers clearly. “My house.”

A cold shudder runs down Dallas’s spine. “Your room?” His throat feels dry when Luck nods. Fuck. He even gave him his _room_. There’s no way this is out of the good of his heart. “So, are you plannin’ on fuckin’ me too?”

The question takes Luck by surprise, that much is obvious. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Dallas says, his voice still small. “There’s – there’s no way you’re doin’ this just ‘cause. You want somethin’ from me. Everybody I’ve ever met wants somethin’ from me.” His reasoning is simple, but it’s true. Even the guys he was running with back in 1930 were using him for sex. He doesn’t see why this should be any different. “I won’t – ” Dallas had to force the next part out, “ –I won’t fight you.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Dallas,” Luck says. “I know you don’t believe me, but I don’t want your body, or anything else from you.” Dallas doesn’t believe him, but there’s nothing he can do right now.

There’s a silence that stretches on for a few minutes, until Dallas finally asks what’s been on his mind the whole time: “Does Eve know?”

Luck nods. “She doesn’t know all of the details, but she does know where you are. She’ll be coming to see you tomorrow.” For just a moment, there’s a spark of hope in Dallas’s chest. “She was the one who told me to find you, you know.”

“She – she wanted _you_ to find me?” Dallas’s voice cracks and wobbles.

“She remembered what had happened the last time you went missing,” Luck says. There’s a hint of reservation in his voice. “And she thought maybe we’d done something to you again. I told her we hadn’t, but I suppose that isn’t true.” Dallas’s breathing quickens as he tries to hold back the tears that will come anyway. “The men who hurt you…they were my men, weren’t they?”

Dallas can only manage to nod. Luck swears under his breath, tilts his head down so his eyes are shadowed slightly. “Okay. We’ll worry about that later. I think, right now, we should get some food in you.”

All Dallas can do is nod numbly as the tears flow down his face, cutting cold paths down his cheeks and his throat.


	3. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it out of the kindness of his heart, or is there something more he wants?

At first, Dallas doesn’t even touch the food Luck gives him. It’s simple, because Luck is no five-star cook: a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries. It’s his common breakfast food, but Dallas just stares at it like he doesn’t know what to do with it. Luck wonders if maybe he’s embarrassed at all he’s had to do for him. When he stood up to come downstairs, Luck had to nearly carry Dallas down the stairs. He’s so weak from a lack of food and water, and from being tied up for so long, he’s simply unable to walk on his own. According to what Dallas tells him, he has been tied up and presumably tortured for at least three months. Luck can’t fathom the horrors Dallas has likely been through all this time, and at the hands of his own men, at that.

“Are you not hungry,” Luck asks gently after Dallas has sat there for ten minutes. The other man flinches and turns his head away so he doesn’t have to look Luck in the eyes.

“I’m – ” Dallas cuts himself off, seeming to curl in on himself. His stomach lets out a loud growl, answering his question for him before he can actually say anything. “It’s – it’s not that. I just – don’t know if I can take it.”

“I haven’t done anything to it, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Luck tells him. He sits down across the table, making sure he’s still keeping enough distance between he and Dallas so the other doesn’t get spooked. Even so, he can see Dallas visibly flinch again. What in the hell did those men do to him, to take him from the cocky tough guy he knew not too long ago to a flinching, trembling mess?

His words seem to work for the moment. Dallas finally picks up his spoon and digs into the bowl. Once he starts, he simply doesn’t stop, and devours his first sitting within five minutes. He’s quick to ask for a second, but Luck doesn’t give him a third. When someone is starved, it’s essential for them to get used to eating small meals first, or else their stomach will bloat and turn over, resulting in a painful death. Although Dallas is immortal, and he’d heal after a few minutes, Luck doesn’t want him to have to go through any more pain than he already has.

Luck himself doesn’t actually eat at all the whole time Dallas does, instead preferring to watch the other man carefully. His mannerisms speak of someone who had been hurt for so long, they were immediately distrustful of any kind acts. While he’s eating, his eyes keep flickering from his food to Luck, as if he expects the other man to reach out and take it away from him at any moment. Luck wonders if that was another part of his torture. He wouldn’t be surprised at this point.

Once they clean up, Luck sits down across from the table again, folding his hands on top of the table so Dallas can easily see them. He wants to make sure he doesn’t spook Dallas, because what comes next is likely going to shake him to the core.

“Dallas,” he says quietly. Dallas looks at him with the expression of a kicked dog. “My brothers are going to have to come and you’ll have to tell them, and me, about what happened to you.”

He immediately started shaking his head. “No. No, I can’t do that, I’m not gonna do that,” Dallas says quickly, cobalt eyes going wide as his knuckles go white against the table. “They’ll kill me. I still dunno if _you’re_ gonna kill me or not. How – how do I know you’re not in on this?”

Luck wants to say _I’m not like that,_ but he doubts that will be enough to calm Dallas’s nerves. “I haven’t hurt you, have I?” Hesitantly, Dallas shakes his head. “Sometimes our men do things we don’t condone. I know that’s what happened here. None of us would have allowed them to do this to you, and that’s why they had to do it in secret, away from our territory. They knew that.” He tries to make his voice and face seem as gentle as possible, but he fears it doesn’t matter how gentle he appears. Dallas has only just escaped Hell, and he hasn’t even begun to heal yet.

“I – I just – ” Dallas’s voice trembles, and he swallows heavily, tears rolling down his cheeks again. Luck hates to see people cry, but he can’t bring himself to reach out to Dallas, not wanting to frighten him any further. “I dunno where to start.”

“Start with me,” Luck says. “Tell me first, get your details straight, okay? As soon as we get that, and you tell us what the guys look like, we can figure out who did this to you and what we’ll do with them, okay?”

Dallas is obviously distrustful, and he looks at Luck out of the corner of his eye. “You promise you won’t – you won’t do anything to me?” He whispers.

Luck nods. “I’m a man of my word, Dallas. Just tell me everything you can remember.”

“Somewhere else,” Dallas says, looking back up the stairs. “I don’t – I don’t like it down here. Not in the – the kitchen.”

Luck accepts Dallas’s demand, and helps him get up and get back up the stairs. As long as he can get all the details, he doesn’t care where Dallas wants to talk. If he wanted to be on the roof, so be it.

Luckily, it’s not that obscure, and the two men sit down on the bed. Surprisingly, Dallas lets Luck sit next to him, but not close enough so they can touch. He seems to curl in on himself, trying to make himself smaller, looking like he wants to disappear. Luck doesn’t blame him.

“Okay,” Dallas says after taking a few deep, heavy breaths. “Okay. I guess I’ll start with where I knew the guys…”


	4. Part 4: Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shocking doesn't even begin to describe what this story is.

Luck thinks he’s prepared to hear this story, but he’s dead wrong. Dallas finally starts speaking a few minutes after they sit down, and what he says is horrific.

“I met the guys outside a bar one night. We’d all been drinkin’, I guess, I mean they looked like they were drunk, y’know? I hafta’ drink to forget stuff, ‘cause if I think about it too much…” Dallas trails off and swallows heavily before he can continue. “Anyway, it started out with three guys. They caught me while I was walkin’ out, so I couldn’t – I couldn’t fight back. Even if I wanted to, I was piss drunk, couldn’t see three feet in fronta’ me.” He starts to fidget with his fingers now, clawing at his fingernails and tearing them off.

“I can’t remember which guy hit me, but I blacked out. Next thing I knew, I woke up tied to that Goddamn bed.” Dallas’s voice shakes with the strain of telling the story, but he forces himself to keep going. “I was pissed when I woke up, an’ hungover, which got me more pissed ‘cause I was hurt. I guess they hadn’t started rapin’ me then, ‘cause my clothes were still on. I just figured they’d do it when they knocked me out in the alley. It wouldn’ta been the first time.”

“You’ve been raped before?” Luck asks.

Dallas nods and gives a lifeless shrug. “Yeah. Lotsa’ times. I’ve prob’ly been with half the guys in the city by now,” he says, pulling on his fingers as if he’s counting them off. “I mean – Pop and Jeffrey were rapin’ me from when I was like, what, nine?” Dallas doesn’t see it, but Luck’s looking at him with an expression of absolute disgust on his face. He can’t bring himself to look over, only having enough energy to keep talking. “I – I got used to it, y’know? It’d happened so many times. I thought – I thought that’s all they wanted from me.”

He doesn’t want to cry, but Dallas can feel it coming. “But it – it was so fast. They were talkin’ to me, y’know, tellin’ me what a pretty bitch I was, how bad they wanted to fuck me up. Said they were friends of – of those guys I killed.” Luck tenses at that, and Dallas can sense the raw nerve those words still hit. He knows the Gandors don’t think he paid his due for that. He was supposed to be stuck in that barrel until he died, and now, he almost wishes that he had. It would’ve meant that this didn’t have to happen.

“They said they were gonna make me suffer, and they did. They took turns rapin’ me – the first three guys – but it wasn’t like the other times. I tried to fight, but there wasn’t much I could do. It was pretty stupid, thinkin’ about it now. Every time I’d try to do somethin’, they’d start – ” He tries to swallow again, but he can’t force it down his throat. The tears feel so normal he doesn’t notice he’s crying until he tastes salt. “Start stabbin’ me, but it wasn’t normal. They’d – they’d take the knives, big ones, little ones, an’ stick ‘em in me but wouldn’t take ‘em out. Nowhere that’d kill me, too, but it hurt. God, it hurt so bad, an’ when I’d scream they’d laugh.”

The bile burns his throat, but Dallas forces it down. _This is not the time._ “When I’d say “stop”, or – I mean, I was beggin’ at this point, I just wanted it to _stop_ – they’d do it worse. An’ when they’d fuck me, there was nothin’ to prepare me for it, they’d just do what they wanted, y’know? Sometimes they’d – they’d fuck me with other stuff lyin’ around. Knives, usually. A gun once.” He tries to wipe away the tears, but they’re replaced by new ones immediately after. “An’ all the time, they’d keep talkin’ to me, tellin’ me how good it felt, who they were doin’ it for. I tuned it out after a couple a’ days, but those first few…”

Luck wants to reach out to comfort him. Dallas is in so much pain, he can almost feel it from where he sits.

“They didn’t give me no food or water the first few days. I guess afterwards, they didn’t want me dyin’ on ‘em over an’ over again, but…” Dallas swallows again. He can still feel the grit in his throat. “They started feedin’ me dog food, since I was their bitch, they said. An’ they’d just shove it down my throat, ‘cause I didn’t wanna eat, an’ when I’d puke they’d – it made the rapes worse.”

“After the first three days, I gave up, I guess. Nobody’d come lookin’ for me, an’ I figured nobody ever would. I guess – I guess this was my new river, an’ I would just be there forever.” Although now it seems strange he would believe that, at the time it was what Dallas believed. After all, he’d already been through so much pain. “I guess I just got tired of fightin’. I just let it be.”

He looks up at the ceiling, blinking as he tries to stem the tide of tears. When Dallas looks out of the corner of his eye, he can see Luck’s face, eyes wide with horror. “I didn’t know how many days I was in there, since I couldn’t see the sun ‘re anything. But, I guess after a couple a’ days they brought more people. All of ‘em were rapin’ me – I think the most was eleven at one time.”

“Could you identify all of the men,” Luck asks him again.

Dallas nods. “Yeah. Got a good long look at all of their fuckin’ faces.” He inhales shakily, throat closing around his words. “Luck – Luck I gotta throw up.”

“It’s alright,” the other man says gently. He leans down, hooks his hand around a trash bin sitting by the bed and give it to Dallas. Immediately he leans over it, vomiting up whatever’s left in his stomach into the bin, body heaving with the effort. It must’ve been too much for his body all at once, and Luck takes the opportunity to rub his back, trying to comfort him the best he can.

Finally, when Dallas is done, he lets the bin drop to the ground, breathing in deeply as he tries to regain the normal pattern of his breaths: _in and out. In and out. Oxygen, not water._

“So what’re you gonna do with me now,” Dallas asks meekly, voice rough and scratched from all of his efforts. He’s looking at Luck like he expects him to turn him out, ready to kick him out of the house now that he’s gotten the story.

“You’re going to stay here, if that’s what you want,” Luck says carefully. “With those guys still on the street, I don’t think you’d be safe outside of the house. We don’t know how far they’ll go, but I’m sure they won’t come all the way out here.”

“I’m not safe anywhere,” Dallas sobs, finally curling in on himself and letting out what he’s been holding back the whole time. And Luck holds him in his arms like that, listening to every painful sob and slurred word coming out of his mouth, wishing there was something he could do to make up for everything that’s happened.


	5. Part 5: Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is his angel.

The only good thing that's happened in four months for Dallas comes the next day.

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is a weight next to him on the bed, and gentle fingers running through his hair. For some reason, his instincts tell him it's not a bad thing, so his eyes open slowly. Vision blurry, Dallas blinks a few times, and when his vision clears, he's looking up into his little sister's worried face.

“Dallas,” Eve breathes happily when he wakes. Dallas's arms are around her before he can think about it for too long and stop himself. She's the only person he can tolerate holding him right now, the only person he wants to be so close. If she'd been anyone else, he would've flipped. But this is Eve, his sister, his angel, the one person in the world who couldn't possible hurt him.

“I'm sorry for scaring you,” he finally says when he finds his voice. Eve leans down to press her face to his hair, as if trying to remind herself how it feels.

“You shouldn't apologize, it's not your fault,” she barely whispers. “Mister Luck told me that – that terrible things had happened to you. He didn't tell me everything, but...” Eve trails off as Dallas pulls back, looking down at the bed in shame. “Dallas – what happened?”

Dallas only shakes his head in response. “It's – it's nothin' you need to worry about, sweetheart. Nothin' you need to know.”

“It was bad, wasn't it?” Eve's smarter than a lot of people think she is, but Dallas doesn't underestimate her. He knows she could put the pieces together if she learned enough, but he doesn't want her to know that much. She doesn't need to know. The last thing she needs to do is worry about a no-good, dirty, lying whore like him.

A hard lump rises in his throat, but Dallas swallows it and pushes the urge to cry down with it. Not now, not in front of her. He can keep his facade of strength up in one way, he supposes. There's no way Luck, or anyone else, takes it seriously now. He has to be strong for Eve.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was bad,” Dallas finally murmurs. “But he – Luck – it ain't his fault. I can't – I can't go home, I gotta stay with him.” He's jumping all over the place with his words, and Eve frowns, her lips pulled into a tight, worried line. He doesn't deserve her.

God, he doesn't deserve any of these people.

“Dallas...” She trails off, looking into his eyes only for a split second before he flinches away. “Oh, dear Dallas. What happened to you?”

Dallas doesn't say anything, only starts to sob when Eve pulls him in for a hug, holding him close against her body and murmuring gentle reassurances into his ear.

 


	6. Part 6: Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is not prepared.

It’s been two weeks since Dallas was brought to Luck’s home, and while he still spends most of his time in the bedroom, Luck has been slowly coaxing him out to spend more time outside of the room. Sometimes, when Luck is home, the two of them will sit in the living room together, listening to the radio. Dallas is always silent, and his gaze usually goes to the curtained windows and the locked front door, double checking his exits and places where people could enter.

Luck never misses this, and it only makes what he’s going to have to tell Dallas that much harder to say.

“Dallas,” Luck finally says one day, turning down the radio so he can easily be heard. He always makes sure to speak softly when he’s around Dallas, because speaking too loud could startle him. “You’re going to have to talk to my brothers tomorrow.”

“No,” Dallas says immediately, his head whipping around and facing Luck so fast that if Luck had blinked he would have missed it. “No. _No._ They hate me even more than you do an’ I don’t wanna talk to them.”

“We can’t catch the men who hurt you without you speaking to all three of us,” Luck explains, still speaking gently. “Keith and Berga won’t allow me to do anything to our men if they don’t believe that they’ve done anything wrong. Without you, we have no evidence.”

“Like they’re gonna believe me anyway,” Dallas scoffs, shrugging his shoulders. “I still don’t think _you_ really give a shit about me. Why should you?” He’s shaking with a mix of anger and fear, and Luck keeps his distance. Dallas hasn’t let him touch him since that day when he first broke down.

“I’m the one who found you, remember?” Luck says. “I do believe you, Dallas. I don’t believe you tied yourself to that bed and raped yourself.”

That should make Dallas feel better, but it doesn’t. Instead, bile rises in his throat. “But – but they were _your_ men. You should be on _their_ side. You know what I did.” He swallows down the bile and keeps talking. “You – you fuckin’ _hate_ me. It doesn’t make no Goddamn sense.”

“The truth is, I don’t know how to feel about you,” Luck says candidly. “I hated you for killing my friends, yes. I sentenced you to die over and over until you finally died of old age. But I also found you after you’d been raped and tortured for three months, and now I don’t know what to think.” Luck’s own frustration is bubbling over, as much as he tries to keep it back, because he doesn’t want Dallas to slip back from all of the process he’s made so far.

Dallas’s jaw muscle twitches, and he turns his head away from Luck, in that way he does when he doesn’t want Luck to know what he’s thinking or feeling, because the man can read him like a fucking book. “At least you’re honest,” he whispers. “I know you. I know what you’re like. I don’t know _them_.”

“You’re going to have to take a chance, and though I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you, it’s going to be necessary,” Luck says, his voice becoming gentle again. He extends a hand to Dallas. “But no matter what, I will _not_ let them hurt you. Is that understood? Can you trust me?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Dallas says, but he takes Luck’s hand anyway, blinking away tears from the corners of his eyes as he does.

It’s good enough for Luck.


	7. Part 7: Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He comes anyway.

Dallas is in no condition to leave the house, and Luck knows this. But he still doesn’t know if it would be better to bring his brothers to the house – which would surely shatter the bubble of safety Dallas has built up around himself – or take Dallas down to the hideout, which would no doubt bring back horrible memories and possibly throw Dallas backwards. Both situations are undesirable, but one way or another, Dallas _has_ to talk to his brothers.

Luck can’t take care of the men who did this without Dallas talking to his brothers.

He makes the decision to take Dallas to the Coraggioso, because he wants Dallas to have a safe space he can still run to, even if that safe space is his house. Luck drives his own car rather than ask someone to drive them, because he still doesn’t know who exactly abused Dallas, and he doesn’t want to take the risk of asking one of his rapists to drive them.

Dallas is quiet the whole time, sitting in the passenger seat and staring out the window. Every once and a while a visible shudder runs through his spine, and his breathing gets heavy.

“Are you alright?” Luck asks, and immediately regrets the question when Dallas faces him with the eyes of a cornered animal.

“Do I look _alright_?” Dallas hisses. Afterwards he looks away, back out the window, and doesn’t say anything more to Luck. Luck knows that Dallas is still afraid of him, that fact is painfully obvious.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Luck wonders if Dallas will ever be able to trust him.

When they pull up to the hideout, Luck gets out first, and then opens the door for Dallas. But Dallas hesitates, stares at the pavement outside of the car door as his leg bounces with nervous energy. Luck can feel the terror coming off of him in waves.

“They’re waiting inside,” Luck says softly. “We wouldn’t want to make them wait much longer. Berga is not a patient man.”

He extends his hand, like the gentleman he tries to be, and Dallas takes it.

They walk into the building together.


	8. Part 8: Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His story begins.

Dallas lets go of Luck’s hand before they walk into the building, and instead puts his grip on Luck’s lower arm. Luck feels a lot like he’s escorting a date or someone equally important into a fancy restaurant almost, but he shakes the feeling.

“Back room,” Luck says to Dallas, guiding him through the main room towards the back. No one is there. Luck made sure the place was empty before bringing Dallas there, not wanting anyone to walk in on them.

He knocks twice on the door to let his brothers know that it’s him, before he walks in the room.

Dallas is behind him faster than Luck can blink. He feels his hands curl into the back of his suit jacket, but he says nothing. If that’s what it’s going to take to get him to talk, then so be it.

Keith is sitting behind the desk, shuffling a deck of cards slowly in his hands. Not lazily, just slowly. And Berga, of course, is pacing back and forth in front of the desk, which isn’t too worrying on its own. Berga rarely stops moving.

Dallas is gripping Luck’s suit jacket harder now, and Luck can feel him tremble. He’s shaking like a leaf at this point, and honestly, Luck doesn’t blame him. If Luck was in Dallas’s position, he doesn’t know what he’d be doing at this point.

“So what’s the deal?” Berga finally says after a few moments of silence. Luck takes the time to shut the door, knowing there’s no one else there but not wanting to take the chance of anyone even possibly hearing their conversation. He doesn’t know who to trust. “Why’re we all here? And why’d you drag the _trash_ back in?”

“There’s something you need to hear,” Luck says, deciding to ignore the trash comment. Dallas catches it, and his grip tenses and then relaxes against Luck’s back. He finally pokes his head around Luck’s shoulder, still looking absolutely terrified. “I told you I found Dallas, but I didn’t tell you _how_ I found him.” He steps aside, looking over at Dallas. “Go on.”

Gently, he puts his hand in the small of Dallas’s back and pushes him forward a bit. Dallas hesitates, pushes back against Luck’s hand for only a moment, before he sucks in a hard breath and leans forward. Luck takes that as a cue and removes his hand.

For a moment Dallas doesn’t say anything, but when he finally gets his voice to work, he says: “I – I was raped. By your men.”


End file.
